


Dear You

by Hail_Gothmog



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: But Is An Eccentric, Canon Compliant, Crack, Diary/Journal, Epistolary, Humor, Lindon (Tolkien), Parody, Poor Elrond, Second Age, Thranduil Not Being An Asshole, with modifications to the canon timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 08:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25467658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hail_Gothmog/pseuds/Hail_Gothmog
Summary: Between political meetings, fighting workshops, Maglor's surprise visits, correspondence with Elros and medicine training, the life of the young Elf is not easy. Elrond wishes nothing more than well-deserved vacations, and sometimes contemplates going back to his decision and take the Way of Men to become a farmer in Númenor. Unfortunately for the herald, his thoughts are often occupied by a certain Prince of Greenwood the Great. As if he didn't have enough things to worry about already. The diary of a Peredhel who constantly pulls his hair and suffers from the dreadful jokes of Gil-galad's crew.
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel & Thranduil, Elrond Peredhel/Thranduil
Comments: 14
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

Dear diary,

Those political meetings will be the end of me. 

Don’t get me wrong, I am always eager to take notes of everyone’s ideologies and opinions in order to analyse their personalities better and seek for compromises that suit everybody, but putting together in a room strong-headed Elves as stubborn as mules is an incredible migraine inducing recipe. I quickly escaped to my room—that is fortunately to the west end of the palace, as opposed to the guest rooms that are in the south wing and a floor under—irritated to the most. The head valet was kind enough to ask me if I desired to eat something. He later brought a chicken soup to my room with bread and hot water. I can say I feel better after eating a bit and rubbing my forehead with lavender essential oil. I am now sipping an herbal tea composed of chamomile, passionflower and linden. I will sleep very well tonight. I do not care if I fail to the protocol of hospitality. Elves are laxer than Men in this respect. We have all the time of the world before us to meet again. Elros would give me a three-hour long speech if he knew I am not dining with the guests, but here in my room instead. 

Elros. I should write to him and enquire how he survives quarrels between important political personalities. However, I do recall he confessed they are the main source of his grey hair, which he thankfully doesn’t have much. At best he will look Sinda with silver and white strands. 

I swear (I should not. Remember what oaths did to my foster fathers?) Dwarves are more conciliant than the Firstborns. And we are said to be the Wise Ones! What a joke! I pity Lord Ingwë who is the High King of all Elves, but good for him, he is surrounded by Vanyar and can cry on Lord Eönwë’s shoulder if necessary. I do not know what Eru put in our heads. Or did not, since Dwarves strongly appear to be gifted with a je-ne-sais-quoi that is certainly missing in Elven minds. When I sail West, I will ask Lord Aulë. 

Going off the topic of mule-headed ‘wise’ beings, Círdan mentioned that beard is a sign of wisdom, and only Elves with facial hair must be trusted. Pity for him the only other Elda with a beard we know of is Mahtan, and he resides the Forge of Aulë, not Middle-Earth. This must be it! Dwarves and Men are wise because hair grows on their face! Even Ents have some sort of a moustache, or so claim the illustrations in botanic encyclopaedias. Elros grew a beard too when he made the Choice of Men. 

Perhaps Elros was right to be a Secondborn, after all.

Right, today’s meeting. Where to start. 

We discussed the apparition of a certain ‘Lord of Gift’, his presence does not please Celebrimbor the slightest. Curiously, he never showed any sign of wanting to kick the Maia away in his letters. On the other hand, I would not run after Ainurin wrath, except if I feel recklessly suicidal. My cousin mentioned Annatar is appreciated by the Dwarves and his colleagues and denying his forging skills would be blasphemy. I suppose Celebrimbor is envious someone else took the spotlight. Plus, the Dwarves were delighted to hear the Maia speak in classical Khuzdul and swear with insults of old. My cousin has yet to reach fluency in the Dwarven tongue and was angered to stand in his shadow. Well, it was to be expected, who could be more qualified than someone from the Hall of Mahal? 

Luck not being on our side today, the only Maia-expert who could enlighten us on this topic is unable to attend the meeting. Lady Galadriel is pregnant of only four months, but Lord Celeborn confirmed us her nauseas are so violent they tie the Lady to her bed more than regularly. I am expected to follow him to their domain as soon as we are done with our political affairs. The future father is very anxious the Lady or the baby might be in danger. I am glad my sister-in-law was spared from those inconveniences when she was pregnant of Vardamir. She and Elros are trying to have a second child. I suppose my presence will be required to Númenor again. As Erestor pointed out, I soon will be known as Middle-Earth’s best midwife. 

Midwifery put aside, the Annatar case remains unresolved. 

Then, Lord Celeborn asked, on behalf of the Lady, Gil-galad if he could grand them larger territory to reign upon. Ereinion, whose plan is to become Ingwë 2.0, was not very happy. He said ‘no’. Lord Celeborn is not one to argue, the case was soon closed. 

In the facts, it was more than a relief Lord Celeborn and Círdan were present, because they played the role of cultural liaison agents between the Ñoldor and the Sindar, as well as political mediators. 

Quite indeed, we had the luxury to be in the presence of no one else than King Oropher. Who never flinches in front of Lady Galadriel’s stare. Can you imagine, diary? This Elda is an Elda of steel, no less. Rumours say he was Melian’s favourite from Elu Thingol’s court at Doriath, because nothing could bend his willpower. A detail that was forgotten by Gil, who started a discourse on the advantages of extending his realm and allying (read ‘to govern on’) with Greenwood the Great. 

King Oropher sighed and said, “Oh, child… I am well past the age of fairy tales.” The Greenwood King approached the topic like a banal triviality.

Next to me, Lord Celeborn and Círdan were tense. I heard Gil throw himself into a passionate speech. The Sindarin sovereign was visibly amused. You must know that when Círdan senses imminent danger, he stares at its potential source. Which revealed to be Thranduil Oropherion, Prince and heir to the throne of Greenwood the Great.

You heard me right. 

I met for the first time of my life the legendary Sindarin Prince. 

And what an eccentric.

He did look as beautiful as portrayed in the books. I was not disappointed. I was however shocked to see that he did not wear sophisticated braids and jewellery revealing his social status and cultural belonging, as dictate the customs of the Eldar. His silvery blonde hair was tied into a messy bun. 

Valar. 

How dare he. Even the Orcs have more pride and decorate their dreadlocks with beads! I know, I’ve seen them! He wore a tight dark green shirt (I must admit the buckles seemed to be carved in gold with added rubies and emeralds, which denotes he comes from a high social position) with tight black trousers and knee-high leather boots. When all of us wear the burden of heavy robes on our shoulders, save for Círdan who prefers practical clothing, but nowhere near as revealing as the Prince. If I had his athletic body, I would stay modest, nevertheless. Maybe. 

The Prince’s nonchalance did not stop there, no; he stayed silent all along, but took evident pleasure in daydreaming during the meeting! Until he had enough of Gil’s speech. 

He undid his bun and dramatically let his hair fall around his waist. Why is nothing conventional with him? The longest Eldar of the male gender keep their hair at is chest-length. Shoulder-length is more common nowadays. Middle back-length is the expected length for ellyth, although during this past century, the messenger falcons from Valinor said the Valmarin fashion is neck-length hair, therefore a great part of the feminine population cut their hair in the past years. Even the Avari, famous for favouring Orcish beauty standards, sometimes follow Valinorian styles. The only one who keeps her hair reaching past the lower back is Lady Galadriel. Círdan keeps his ridiculously short, but when you are an ellon with a beard, you can do whatever you want.

So, his royal silky hair undone, Thranduil stood up, eyed Gil-galad, scoffed, and promptly exited the room. 

King Oropher did not scold his son. He instead went on, “Excellent, now let’s talk trade.” 

And the nightmare began. I hate economics. 

Not looking forward to have Kings and Lords argue about borders tomorrow. I will send Erestor, he is more qualified than I at this particular subject. A good day of rest is what I require the most.

***

Dear Glorfindel,

I know you are with a few of our soldiers on a well-deserved hunt, but I need your council and advice. See, Lady Galadriel suffers from pregnancy sickness and consequently cannot attend the meetings; Lord Celeborn is an anxious future adar whose usual wisdom is off the window; Círdan is present only to make sure chaos does not ensue in the castle; the delegation from Eregion will arrive tomorrow or after-tomorrow at most; and King Oropher brought with him his son. 

Prince Thranduil does not do much but has a temper worth of a Dwarf’s. Gil-galad made the mistake to mention his wish to reign on the Wood Elves… King Oropher does not consider him a threat, but the Prince protects his realm like a dragon protect its eggs and did not appreciate Ereinion’s incentive. The Greendwood royals are here for at least three weeks. I fear for a fourth kinslaying.

Thranduil respects no convention. He doesn’t braid his hair, has it almost as long as Lady Galadriel’s, wears clothes that leave little place to the imagination. He is a strange Elf. 

I don’t understand why he makes me feel so infuriated. Is it because of his princely arrogance? And what is wrong with his clothes? If I were toned, I would not feel the need to show my firm muscles to the world (they pop under the textile fabric of his skin-tight clothes) to prove how slim I am. 

My main problem is that I don’t find this view entirely disgusting. It was rather pleasing. I know in times of battles, by due respect to their fellow shieldmaidens, soldiers seek comfort with the people of the same gender. How to know if we swing this way? Is it wrong? 

The Prince is young, is that ethical and acceptable?

With all my confusion,

Yours,

The Fëanorian Eärendilion  
PS: I attached parchment, a small ink bottle and a pen with the letter. Please use them and do not write your response with your blood and a knife, it’s unhygienic.

***

My dear chap,

So you swing _that_ way, huh? I thought you swung ‘no’ way. However, you do not specify how far you wish to go with the Prince, I wouldn’t be concerned the slightest if I were you. Eyes don’t discriminate beauty and us Eldar have been blessed with appreciation that can be find in all things (or so said Lord Manwë during my young days at Valmar, and I have yet to disagree with Him.) Observe how you feel around Thranduil. A tremor between the legs usually is an indicator of one’s desire. Make sure to wear loose tunics. You would not want the Oropherion to notice. 

I am delighted to announce you there is nothing to worry concerning your respective ages. I don’t know what gave you the impression he was young, or considerably younger than you. He was born during the First Age and already had reached maturity when the second kinslaying at Doriath happened. I strongly advise you to NOT let a word slip about your foster fathers. Or your biological parents. It would be better if you did not talk about parentality altogether. It is worth to mention he is also older than Gil and Erestor. 

Wood Elves love trees more than Teleri love the sea or Avari love stars. They worship both Elbereth and Yavanna. They also can communicate with plants. So no, the Prince will never leave his kingdom to the hands of Noldor. I suggest Gil listen to Oropher’s council to prevent diplomatic incidents. His wife was well acquainted with King Olwë, and it is her proximity with the Telerin king that allowed Oropher to climb the social hierarchy higher in Thingol’s court. He was trained by experimented rulers and was often aided by the council of the Queen. 

My ellyn and ellyth asked what the matter was when they saw your messenger hawk arrive, so you can deduce I granted them explanations. We are heading to the palace as I’m writing this letter—we’ll be here tomorrow at sunset. No one wants to miss the occasion to meet the royal family of Greenwood the Great in person. Mind you, people collect and exchange cards of past and present rulers of Valinor, Beleriand and Arda, and my soldiers explained me the rarest, therefore most valuable, cards are those of the King, Queen and Prince of Eryn Galen. They relish the perspective of authentic autographs on their collection cards. 

I’ve been told the Prince has the reputation to be an excellent archer, and my team fervently prayed Elbereth to see him in action. 

Hope you will be the target of his love arrows,

See you soon,

Captain Fin  
PS: The corner of the letter is missing. I didn’t eat it, but Gothmog did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gothmog is Glorfindel's black labrador, because the Captain needs a playmate.


	2. Chapter 2

Dear diary,

I woke up and felt as good as new and survived the day beautifully. I did well to send Erestor to the meeting concerning borders yesterday. He didn’t skimp on taking notes, and attended with many books and encyclopaedias regarding the topic of countries and territories. The advantage of having a librarian and a scholar is having someone capable of supporting their arguments with proofs. Things however became a bit more complex when King Oropher brought on the table the oral traditions of his people… Because they are oral, they aren’t documented, and Erestor couldn’t check. The Greenwood history is also in the Greenwood Nandorin dialect, which none of us understands. Thranduil added that decisions cannot be made without the consent of the trees who are the first to suffer from Elvish, Dwarvish and Mannish activity, but especially Orcish. Erestor reported the Prince bears deep admiration for the Ents. He also said Gil was a bit heated with this aspect he completely didn’t think of, but our life saviour Lord Celeborn explained Sauron once sent his Orcs to attack the migrating Sindar to the Woodland realm, but they were defended by Ents, and the trees then revealed them secret passages unknown of the dark forces. Hence their respect and admiration for the Children of Lady Yavanna.

I remember that Nana had one favourite tree and would often converse with it, in spite of Ada’s gentle mockeries. I am torn between bonding with Thranduil and asking about Sindarin culture, and keeping my soft posterior safe, since I was recommended to not mention my upbringing. I know I am welcome to discuss it with Lord Celeborn whenever, but he is old and I would like to have a friend who’s my age, you see? Sindarin friend, precisely. Gil, Erestor, Lindir and Glorfindel are my closest friends, but they are all Noldorin by culture. Well, Fin is special because he is Vanyarin and was raised at Valmar, but he made friends with Turgon at Valinor and immerged into the Ñoldorin culture. He never got rid of his Quendya dialect, however. 

They finally established a concensus, but Gil will have to discuss with Dwarvish and Mannish establishments around the Great Woods if he desires to expand his kingdom in this area. Still no word from Eregion. We will send patrols tomorrow if no one rings at the door by tonight. Concerning the shores, Ereinion knows trying to venture and settle there is pointless for the moment—Lord Ossë said ‘no’. And when Lord Ossë says ‘no’, it is no. 

I was also told by Erestor that Gil is wary around Thranduil since before-yesterday’s incident (the scoff), even if the Prince has yet to open hostilities. He was found in the stables taking care of his elk. An elk! How did I miss that? Right, I was in the gardens picking some berries when they arrived… The creature is said to be huge! I will have to check it myself. I have the feeling the Sinda loves animals and plants more than he likes Elves… 

Argh! Why do I always think of him! He annoys me! 

I think he intimidates me and I refuse to acknowledge it. I was doubly shocked when I read Fin’s letter. A Doriathrin! Older than me! I also am feeling guilty for the second kinslaying, even if I wasn’t born. Fingers crossed Maglor won’t grant us a surprise visit for the next three weeks, because I am convinced King Oropher will lose his cool in no-time and farewell Ada Maglor and hello fourth kinslaying. 

Yesterday evening, I sneaked in the library to read about Telerin and Sindarin sovereigns. I tried to be discreet, but Erestor was there already. That’s when he gave me a report. I don’t think I was convincing neither subtle when I hold the books very tight against my chest. I lied (badly, probably) and said these were books about pregnancy. The advantage of being a healer apprentice is that this reason is credible; Fin once said the same when he borrowed Mannish erotica without telling Erestor, but our librarian didn’t believe him and hit him with a broomstick. I can understand why he doesn’t trust Fin around books, Fin is too irresponsible and would accidentally drop them in the fireplace.

I made it safe and sound to my room, read about Elu Thingol and Melian’s excessive love story (didn’t their legs ache from motionlessly standing for decades? Some people abuse), surveyed all the lineage from Thingol to Lúthien to Dior and Nana. I learnt that the former Queen of Greenwood one day disappeared in the woods with the dryads, but it is said her spirit lingers and gives protection and hope to the Eryn Galen inhabitants. 

I now understand why Thranduil is a bit of an eccentric, his society does not live by standard Eldarin norms. And his mother’s fëa never reached the Halls of Mandos. Does it mean she was not fully Eldarin and consequently, Thranduil is part-Dryad? 

It is very intriguing.

I spent the day dozing off, sipping tea and eating cookies yesterday. I’m enjoying the morning breeze that travels through my room. I must leave you now, Fin and his team have arrived (one day later than promised, but I’m used to it; there’s the regular time, and then, there’s Glorfindelian time.)

***

Dear diary,

Thranduil’s presence was yet to be found in the palace, to the big disappointment of Glorfindel and his team. It became my duty to help them to search for the Wood Prince. We walked upon Lord Celeborn, King Oropher and Círdan teaching Gil how to play some sort of Sindarin board game. Diary, you must understand that King Oropher adopts a paternal behaviour around our High King. Being aware of the mystery behind his parentage and his young age, he decided Gil could have a temporary mentor for the time being. 

The Sindarin monarch is sure as the Void the most relaxed and the least hasty Elda of Arda. Círdan and Lord Celeborn are like this too, I wonder if it is cultural to Sindar? Well, Lord Celeborn was, the pregnancy of Lady Galadriel excels at triggering anxiety. I am sure the Lady is fine. As Immortals, Elves, unlike Men, maintain the ability to reproduce forever, they don’t face issues that come with aging and their impact on reproductive functions. Perhaps Peredhil reach menopause, but I would never know because I am not female. If Elros has a daughter, I will ask her. 

We left Gil and the silver-haired ellyn to their occupation before running everywhere in the castle. I underestimated the size of the palace and my physical stamina. How come did Fin not tire from all that running? Even the soldiers were panting! We were saved by Lindir who mentioned he saw the Prince walking in the village. There we went.

We found him at a pub sitting with a group of young Elves. He was easy to spot; who else would tie their hair in a ponytail? And that pale blonde hair is very, very long. And he wore a dark purple sleeveless tunic with puffy black pants and silver wristbands all over his arms. He looked like an Easterling. The King dresses a bit like that too… That contrasted very much with the dark haired Ñoldor dressed in beige and brown robes. I heard they were discussing the best spices to season salmon and deer meats with. 

Glorfindel, fearless as ever, walked to the table and said, “What do we have here?” 

Thranduil leaned back, eyed the Captain from head to toe and exclaimed, “Oh! I see you are one of those who have touched the Light of the Trees.” 

Perceptive. It was the first time I heard him speak. His voice was deep, I did not expect that. I had imagined an eerie voice à la Finrod Felagun (not that I have ever heard him, but the testimonies of Maglor, Maedhros and Lady Galadriel assess so.)

“Mae govannen, Thranduil Oropherion,” Fin grinned. 

Everyone fell silent. Fin sent me a quick glance, what had he done wrong? Then an elleth said, “Oropherion… The Prince? But… I thought you were a solitary traveller from the Woodland realm.” 

“He looks kin to the royals, that’s for certain,” added another. “I didn’t say anything because I considered it’d be inappropriate.”

Thranduil scratched his neck, cleared his throat and said, “I’m afraid it is I.” He elegantly raised a brow and smirked, “Well met, Lord Glorfindel of the Golden House, Captain of Gondolin.” 

The other Elves exclaimed. There was quite the hubbub when Fin’s team rushed to meet with Thranduil. This last one handled the situation very gracefully—I suppose that he was trained to. 

They sat on the table next to him, beer was ordered, there was quite the happy chatter, but I didn’t participate because I refused to be the victim of another headache. So I went back to the castle. When I came back around two hours later, the whole group was singing and cheering, and Fin was improvising a dance on the table. It implied undoing his shirt’s buckles. 

Is it permitted to party in the Hall of Mandos? I believe not, because someone here looks decadence deprived. 

The Prince was sitting at the bar and was chatting with the bartender. Curious, I went to him. 

“Why aren’t you with the others?” I asked. 

“They cannot hold their liquor,” snorted Thranduil. He looked at Fin, “You would think someone older than the Moon and the Sun would not be a lightweight, and yet…”

I couldn’t help but to grin. I remembered I didn’t introduce myself properly. “Mae govannen,” I said, “I am Elrond Eä-…” I coughed. “Herald of Gil-galad.” It was close. 

He hummed, “Mae govannen. I suppose I need not to introduce my person to you.” 

“May I serve you and His Highness a drink?” enquired the bartender.

I answered something along the lines of ‘some good wine’. The eyes of the Prince shone with strange intensity. He then proceeded to detail me everything about the wines available, and decided for me. I have to reckon it was an excellent choice, I usually pick something that smashes right away, but it normally doesn’t have the nicest taste. The bartender mentioned me the Prince was a passionate wine connoisseur. I think I had figured by then. An elleth came to us, ignored me entirely (I know I don’t possess the natural charisma of the Wood Elf, but come on! I am an Eärendilion! And identical twin brother of Elros Tar-Minyatur! No one says Elros is unattractive. I’m sure it’s my lack of beard. If I were more Mannish in looks, perhaps it would attract the ellyth? They like what is exotic), suggestively leaned against the counter, revealing her bosom, and purred, “Why don’t you come with me downstairs? There we could play cards, but I’m not very good, I could use a hand…” 

Thranduil frowned and retorted he didn’t wish to play cards tonight and that he was thinking of heading back to the palace soon, but that she was welcome to ask her friends to play with her. The elleth groaned he was no fun and walked (tottered) to the table where Fin had finally stopped giving a show. The beautiful face of the Prince was twisted with confusion, “Did I say anything wrong? I believe I remained polite.” The bartender rubbed his forehead. I think he pitied the Sinda. 

I was taken aback. Someone like him who surely receives a lot of sexual advances cannot pick hints. Is he untouchable? 

We quickly finished our glasses, paid and left. Fin held his glass of water like he was holding onto a silmaril. I don’t want him to complain he is hungover tomorrow. He should be able to stop drinking when he starts feeling funny and have his impulses controlled. 

The Prince stayed silent, so I tried to engage the conversation. Before I realised what was happening, I distinctively heard myself ask, “Do you like Númenórean yogurt?” What an idiot. I feel sorry for Maedhros who stressed the importance of the art of speech in the Ñoldorin culture. I suppose I have better writing qualities. In Quenya only, my Sindarin is correct and my Westron is miserable. I should have followed the Avarin way; to talk only when there is something of relevance to be said.

Thranduil cocked his head. “I do not think I tasted it,” he articulated. “What is it like?” 

“It is like yogurt,” I explained, “with heavier consistency, but not like butter either.”

“I have not,” he shook his head. He did not add anything further. 

After what I estimate to be ten minutes of walking, he huffed, “Is this yogurt one of those bad metaphors?”

“I beg your pardon?” I don’t understand what goes on in his head. I doubt I ever will.

“Yes,” he angrily gestured with his hand, “it came to my mind the elleth did not want to play cards with me, but to consume her sexual desire for me. Yogurt can be the imagery of-”

“No, I assure you it’s not,” I cut him. It’s not the kind of conversation I want to have with _him._ But congratulations on deciphering the elleth’s intentions, I wonder how he did not notice earlier. Someone like him must have a harem at his feet, just look at this pretty face! And those shoulders! It ought to be illegal. 

After thinking a bit on the matter, it comes to my mind King Oropher may not allow ellyth close to his son. I personally would avoid his wrath and wisely stay away. And who knows what the spirit of the Queen can do, haunt those who want to court the Prince? 

We continued to walk in silence. He wished me goodnight before heading to his room—at least he didn’t snob me! 

Tonight, I go to bed knowing that Thranduil is awfully oblivious, down-to-earth, naturally silent (I thought it was arrogance, but I suppose he is shy or reserved), but talkative when wine is the topic of conversation. I assume he could go on and discuss the virtues of trees forever too. It changes my perception about him; the sex symbol is not a sex goer. I feel inappropriate still for thinking he was a young child compared to me. 

I wonder where the delegation from Eregion is. I also need to make Lord Celeborn a herbal preparation to calm his nerves down. I am sure Lady Galadriel would communicate with him using telepathy if anything went wrong. And I must train his messenger owl to bring letters to the great albatross that guides Númenórean travelers to the shore of Arda, because Elros is the only one who can understand his position as a future father. And regular forest owls can’t travel to Númenor, it is too far for them. I am sure this albatross is a bird of Ossë, the others I have seen favoured fishing and yelling over entering in contact with Men and Elves (it even sits on people’s lap and let itself be petted). I will ask Cirdan tomorrow. 

What a night! All of this because Fin’s people wanted autographs from Thranduil. Stupid Thranduil fans!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All we need in life is a shirtless drunk and dancing Glorfindel.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... it kinda took forever to upload cuz oh well, i'm no longer a teenager with a proper schedule that doesn't try to kill you (though I had many activities as a teen, I have no idea how I managed everything.) Yule's gift, I guess?

I woke up early but I couldn’t resume to sleep again, so I headed to the dining room. Almost everyone was up. Gil-galad wasn’t present, he likes to eat breakfast in his room. Glorfindel, who usually goes for a run at dawn, was not there. I suspected hangover tied him to bed—I was right. He looked grey and spent the day moping and moaning his head would explode when I knocked at his door to make sure Námo hadn’t claim him during the night. Erestor was holding on his coffee like he was holding onto life. The routine. He is lucky we trade with Harad, or else, no coffee! Nothing! I took a plate and sat down. To my left were Thranduil, his butler Galion and Lindir discussing some Orcish hairstyle. Galion said it was a linguistic mistake to think the style is Orcish because it originally took place in Avarin realms, then exported to Orcish lands and to Rhûn. I was horrified when I heard Lindir express the desire to try it one day. I paid attention to the conversation on my right instead.

King Oropher was reassuring a distressed Lord Celeborn and rightfully debunked pregnancy myths. He also shared parenthood anecdotes. It seems the Prince was a baby who favoured kicking the belly of the Queen from within. Círdan, having nothing relevant to add, only hummed from time to time. 

Wait, does this mean Lord Celeborn has someone to discuss these matters with? What an idiot I am. Of course King Oropher would know about this matter! He is a father himself! I no longer need to put Lord Celeborn in touch with Elros when there is another expert in the same room as us! I mentally facepalmed.

I must have thought very loudly, or physically smacked myself, because the next thing I knew was that King Oropher enquired, “Is everything alright, son?” Lindir and Galion looked concerned, Thranduil stared like I was an utter cretin—yes, Your Highness, yes I am. Erestor didn’t stir and put all his attention onto his coffee. Nothing out of the ordinary when it comes to his morning self. 

Círdan was kind enough to hand me bagels with jam, and I ate in silence, mostly wondering how safe it was to check on Fin right after breakfast. Thranduil said he’d spend the day at the stables and required to send him someone whenever a meeting would take place. That’s why he was dressed like a poor farmer. I hope I will have the chance to see him wear luxurious regalia before he departs. He heard his robes were magnificent and the Sylvan art was very distinct. He will certainly be illegally handsome to look at, but on the other hand, I will stop having the impression we host the Maia of Dirt in the palace. 

Breakfast being eaten, I went to the kitchens to pick some fruits and prepare something. My cooking skills being relatively absent, I asked one of the cooks to prepare something that wouldn’t take too much time. In the meantime, I fetched hot water and lemons. Fin was in a pitiful state. He looked grey through his naturally tanned skin. How is that possible? I don’t know. Elves don’t fall sick, but their immunity reaches a limit when the body consumes too much of what shouldn’t be ingested. I don’t expect to see him today at all. 

Close to lunchtime, the delegation from Eregion finally arrived. With Mithrandir! They were lost on the way and fell on Mithrandir who was presumably on an endless hike (I speculate the wizard wasn’t given further indications by Manwë and was free to do whatever he pleases. The blue wizards are said to have disappeared. Some take this freestyle hiking session very seriously.) The status of High King grants Gil many residences, including the big castle we currently live in, so an extra room for Mithrandir is no hassle. I should note Maiar don’t require sleep, so the availability of a supplementary bedroom or not isn’t to disturb the wizard, but he takes his ‘old Man’ role very seriously. I am certain I heard him cough. I don’t know where he had lived, but he has adopted strange habits since he’s no longer Lady Galadriel’s mentor. He rambles about second breakfast, elenvensies, luncheon, afternoon tea, and others I can’t remember. I wonder what Lady Nienna would think of that. It sounds likely she disapproved of the ‘Maiar into wizardy’ project, but I assume Lord Manwë was too stubborn and refused to change his mind. No offense, but I can see a familial trait shared with Morgoth. 

I pray Elbereth Elros won’t become a second Mithrandir when he grows old. Mithrandir has valuable wisdom but has his temper.

We had a meeting later in the afternoon. Círdan, Gil and Lord Celeborn looked like they could use a rest. King Oropher was unfazed as usual. We forgot to send someone for Thranduil, but I take for granted his father gave him a summary of what was missed. The Annatar case? Unresolved. The Noldor from Ereigion spoke favourably. Even Celebrimbor said he was welcome. I wonder what crossed Tyelpë’s mind; he was an explicit anti-Lord of Gifts a while ago (that’s the name of his Ainu translated to Sindarin). Mithrandir said that in normal times, a Maia appearing out of the seemingly nowhere would be worrisome, but such occurred with a total of five wizards not so long ago. He added it’s quite possible Lord Aulë plotted something on his side. Lord Aulë and Lord Ulmo are notoriously free spirits. Morgoth too, but Morgoth is unlike the other Valar and he willingfully entered in a war of spite against Iluvatar long ago, so I prefer to not include him. Ainur, overall, are strange. King Oropher and Lord Celeborn reminisced the days when Lady Melian would changed into red mist and cover all of Doriath. That’s quite bizarre, if you ask me. 

Towards the end of our talk concerning Maiar, Thranduil burst into the room. His already filthy clothes were covered with blood and he smelled like he had spent the day in the pits of Angband (I don’t care Orcs technically invented perfume, it fits the imagery.) The mare of Gil-galad gave birth to a healthy filly! Gil thought she was ill and this was why she considerably gained weight during the past few months. No, it was only pregnancy. The Prince exited the room as soon as he entered, saying he had a mare to take care of. 

The King (Gil, not King Oropher) decreed this was enough emotions for today and postponed the meeting. Tomorrow is break day. Círdan was busy braiding Mithrandir’s beard, I doubt he would have paid attention to any further meeting, he looked done today. The Sindarin King wore his traditional secret-spy-relaxed-emotionless face, and Lord Celeborn looked like he always does, nothing to consider on his side. I was happy, because it gave me the occasion to discuss with the people from Ereigion. They said Narvi (a Master Dwarf) wanted to come, but Annatar advised not to (somehow the Maia knew there would be Sindar attending… Magic is terrifying. With it, you know everything. Some are better at hiding it, some much less. Looking at you, Lady Galadriel.)

The supper was animated by a contest of bad jokes. Erestor and Thranduil won. I don’t know what to make of that. Lord Celeborn qualified Thranduil’s humour ‘as Thingolian’. I have no idea what it means, but it must be awful. Thranduil’s humour is the worst kind ever imaginable. I knew he was the King of Sarcastic Deadpans, but bad jokes, really? Erestor being Erestor, what to expect, although Círdan made terrible ones too. All of this without ale or wine, mind you! 

I have to leave you, Mithrandir is playing with fireworks.

***

Dear diary, 

I had the privilege to get acquainted with the filly. The creature was curious, but clumsy and fell down several times against its mother who was lying and calmly eating. Gil-galad helplessly cried, “A baby! A baby!” I think his mare considers him one of his offsprings too. Gil isn’t very good with infants, thinks they are either too fragile or stronger than they really are. I feared he’d treat the baby horse roughly. Luckily, he thought the filly was as delicate as crystal and very softly brushed its head. Thranduil was talking to his horse—the horse seemed to reply, mind you. I understand why he prefers to spend most of his time at the stables, horses may be stubborn and have their temper, but they aren’t likely to give me as many headaches as my contemporaries do.

Wondering once again if I should have become a Man. They are determined and hardworking beings, but not quite as spiteful as Elves. The Quendi can sulk over a quarrel that is millennia old. Oh, and Men seem to understand mathematics and biology better than Elves who rely too much on magic. 

Yes, I should have become a Man. Or a filly.

I thought this out loud, because I heard Thranduil reply that shaving is inconvenient, so I was better to remain an Elda and enjoy having the possibility to not grow facial hair. It felt great to have consideration from the Prince. I don’t think he understood the seriousness of my reflection, however. 

I patted the filly under the watchful eye of Gil’s mare. I then sat on the hay to observe Thranduil take care of the horses. I swear I stayed to made sure all the horses were taken good care of. Having nothing to discuss with the animals—or the Greenwood Prince—I left. 

Glorfindel was alive today. His eyes were a bit puffy and his golden mane was reunited into a messy bun, unlike the well-brushed ponytail he normally wears, but his good spirits were back. He was smoking with Mithrandir and Celebrimbor’s crew. He stopped as soon as I smacked the back of his head and ordered him to hydrate and eat properly. He whined, but I cut him short; I know the moment he’ll feel a little tired, he’ll knock at my door and complain. The warrior replied he would annoy Erestor or Ereinion if it could give me a break. That was it! I clapped my hands; Glorfindel would give Erestor a hand nex time he falls sick from intoxication, as punishment.

Satisfied, I went to my quarters. 

I suppose Gondolin had no peculiarly suspicious herb. Valinor either. Glorfindel seems rather reckless when it comes to consumption. No, Mithrandir is not a good comparison, we all know deep down what wizards are made of. I dare not to touch herbs any soon. Excluding healing plants, of course, I would make quite a mediocre healer if I feared all growing vegetal. But smoking? Oh, no, no. Ereinion, Elros and I once thought it would be smart to try one of the famous seaweeds out… Diary, I can’t tell you about the sheer regret that ensued. Círdan scolded us so much Finwë himself would be livid (I speculate here, but I had heard he was strict) of fear.

If I recall correctly, we caught Erestor smoking on his balcony three decades ago… Mayhap sending Glorfindel to the library is not the best punishment, but on the other hand, the librarian would lick the fiery posterior of a Balrog before smoking in the same room of his holy books. Glorfindel can be disciplined in the library. 

I talk like our Captain is nothing but a brainless feral moron. He is like Uncle Celegorm. Both have brains, however. They simply are not the composed scholarly type; they require action in order to think straight. And they at times throw their good sense out of the window.

Come to think of it, is there a chance I’ll get acquainted with Uncle Celegorm in Valinor? 

Tomorrow, I will check on the filly. Such a cute creature.

Don’t smoke tonight, it’s bad.

Yours,

Elrond.  
PS: This letter ending is more awkward than I first intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And when Thingol bade [Nellas] speak, she said: 'Lord, I was sitting in a tree'; but then she faltered in awe of the King, and could say no more.
> 
> At that the King smiled, and said: 'Others have done this also, but have felt no need to tell me of it.'"
> 
> —The Children of Húrin; a portrayal of Thingol's daddy humour.


End file.
